Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for mature content.
‘I’m sick of it, you know. I really am. I just can’t understand what I’m doing so wrong!’
Fisto’s voice was flat, as it was when the mood called up some old worries and anxieties for him to complain about, often times with no satisfaction gained other than a temporary feeling of dejected acceptance. This, however, never lasted for more than a week.
‘What’s the matter, Fisto?,’ Lucien asked as it rapidly flipped through the TV broadcast, ‘Work got you down and out again?’
Fisto sighed in response, giving off his usual apathetic air that, to Lucien, signified Fisto was going to continue on with some more of its complaining;
‘You’ve got it easy Lucien, you’re a suave one with good looks, damn good personality too; me, I mean… Look at me,’ Fisto’s finger jumped and pointed over his scraggly, withered body at several even more unappealing places, as though he were playing whack-a-mole, ‘I’m the ugliest thing you’d see in your damn nightmares!’
He paused, taking a slow and silent breath after that little outburst. ‘It’s no damn wonder I can’t get as many people possessed as you can.’
Fisto flopped back and sunk into the Damned couch, a bitter cloud hanging over its face as it idly scanned the TV, which showed its regular broadcast of torture cooking shows involving a regular scared looking Damned. Lucien smirked, letting a little snicker pop out underneath his breath.
‘What’s so funny, Lucien? Huh, Lucien? You think it’s funny I’m a loser? A demon who can’t even possess more than 100 people at once, huh? Huh? Huh!?’ Despite every successive “huh” having a little more emphasis every time Fisto said it, Lucien knew all that posturing was just a baby shaking its rattle.
‘I mean look at you, you’ve got like,’ Fisto gestured to Lucien’s entire body with an annoyed shake of a hand, ‘a nice goat tail that whips around like a new snake… and your horns, really… always so sharp, so shiny, real spot-on Grade-A demon material, probably would be one of those fellas who’d be invited right to the frontline of the Devil’s private army.’
‘Oh, you’re so flattering,’ Lucien said, pulling the eyeball key out of the Damned remote – it had gone green, looked like it was infecting the rest of the Damned’s skull, much to Lucien’s disgust – before Lucien continued in its typical expected sarcasm, ‘you really would make a lot of friends if you had a change of sight and sound these days, go out into the world and really… live it, you know? Get to know much more than just me and Buer at the office. It can get really drab, what with all the,’ Lucien threw the eye, which splatted against the opposite wall immediately, ‘Damned bodies lying around and eternal torture appointments we’ve got going on at the moment. Actually, on that note, when was the last time you went abroad?’
Fisto’s face was sour, ‘Yeah, I know the office can get really really really really drab, Lucien. It’s not like I work there or anything, it’s not like I’m whining because I hate my job there, it’s not like-’
Lucien cackled, ‘There you go again, with the whole pity party. Really, it’s a laughable one. What, tell me, do you actually do at the office? Throw trashed soul contracts around? Complain to Buer about how wriggly the Damned can get when you stick a pike through their necks?’
Lucien sighed wearily, holding its forehead in one hand, fiddling with the Damned remote in the other. The remote writhed and convulsed in pain and agony over the loss of its eye.
Fisto said nothing. It simply got up from the fleshy couch and slowly walked, with its crooked gait, to the window, its curtains closed. Fisto stood there for a couple of moments and then drew the curtain back, looking at the blazing ball of light that hung in the eternally dark sky; it was simply named “Hellfire”.
Fisto sighed quietly.
‘Life’s just boring as hell.’